Old Fashion Love
by Nightfire713
Summary: Kaiba Corp and Stark Industries have merged. Now living in New York, Seto finds himself falling for his childhood hero and crush, the blond super soldier. And Steve is determinded to win the young brunet over. This is Yaoi. Don't like, don't read! REWRITE!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Iron Man is way better than the Hulk!" Joey's vehement protest startled Seto out of his concentration. In response, he glared at the open door that led to his study. Honestly, that idiot couldn't sit tight for more than five minutes, which was the increment of time between now and Seto telling him to shut up so he could work. He checked his watch.

Strike that, three minutes.

Groaning, he got to his feet, stalked over to the door and slammed it shut pointedly before returning to his desk. He did not want to have to deal with the stupid little debate that was occurring against his will a few doors down. He didn't have time to dedicate to arguing the prowess of different super heroes as if they were sizing up fighting hounds. Though it was ironic that they had been talking about Iron Man, given that he was supposed to be calling Stark himself soon.

Seto bit back a grumble of frustration when a webchat request from user name "IMStark" interrupted him as if on cue. He'd been procrastinating the call for so long that he'd started to hope that Stark would forget about the obligation entirely. Sighing, Seto accepted the chat, and found himself virtually face-to-face with the one and only Tony Stark.

"_Hi_, _Kaiba-boy_," Stark smirked, in imitation of Pegasus. Seto almost snarled, his eyes blazing as his lip curled in displeasure.

"Don't call me that, Stark. My patience for you is already wearing thin."

"I'm hurt. I feel entitled to give you cute nicknames, too," Stark replied in that subtly dry way of his. It grated on Seto badly, mostly because they had such similar ways of being sarcastic that they could potentially banter forever. The difference was that Seto didn't find _everything _to be a laughing matter. Thank heaven that Stark was an ocean away. He would have been sorely tempted to attack the man if he was forced to interact with him personally. Hopefully that wouldn't become a problem in the near future.

"We're ready here in New York," Stark continued, his humor shifting into his more authoritative business poise, "And everything has been arranged. Are we ready to go public?"

"We're ready," Seto stated, "My guests and I will leave this evening and should arrive in New York by eight PM. What time is your dinner?"

"The dinner _party_, Kaiba, this isn't the temperance society. The schedule starts it at seven. I'll have a limo meet you and your friends at the airport to take you to the hotel."

Seto didn't respond immediately, schooling his face against a sour expression at the mention of a dinner party. He hated events that involved being clustered in controlled areas with any number of strangers for hours on end. What made matters worse was the fact that he wouldn't be the one directing the event, so he was denied even that small comfort. Stark would be the center of attention, announcing the merging of their companies to the interested parties (and esteemed guests) assembled. Seto would have little more to do than pretend he was excited about the opportunity and stare impassively at the crowd.

"Don't insult me by calling those people my _friends_, Stark."

"I'm going to assume I'm right in saying you're a little touchier than usual," Stark replied nonchalantly. Seto was taken aback by his boldness. "You should brighten up, kid."

"And _you_ should learn some manners," Seto replied sharply, "But we don't all get what we want. What exactly do you expect me to be happy about?"

"Your new and exciting opportunity to have a normal-ish teenage life? Kid, you're nineteen, and your social life ranges from nothing to garbage. Have you even had a date before? A kiss? Anything?"

Seto stared at him, his face placid but his eyes sharp as daggers. The threat behind them didn't seem to concern Stark.

"Whoa, scary eyes. I'm taking that as a _no, _then."

"Sir, Ms. Potts is waiting for you on the other line," JARVIS' electronic voice could be heard in the background before Seto had an opportunity to respond.

"Thank you, Jarvis. Talk to you soon, _Kaiba-boy_."

Stark ended the chat before Seto could reply, and he had to settle for glaring at the screen. Tony Stark infuriated him in many ways that reminded him of Pegasus, but at least the former had never tried to destroy everything he held dear. Perhaps what made Stark so pestilent was the fact that he had no choice but to work with him. After all, they were partners now.

Kaiba Corporation and Stark Industries were merging. Seto hadn't been for it, but he'd been very interested in the clean energy business after seeing how Stark had managed to make it practical. But Stark had kept his permissions close, intending to stay in sole control of clean energy for the time being. It was understandable, of course—Seto knew he would have done the same, especially after what happened in New York.

What he _hadn't _empathized with was the leaked information that Stark was trying his hand at virtual reality, starting with a game based on the recent catastrophe. Rather than wasting their time and resources trying to reverse-engineer one another's unique products (and possibly starting an international turf war), they had agreed to merge their companies. Though Seto knew he would probably win a fight for dominance—being the less conventionally moral of the two—the risks and losses would be too great.

This way, he and Stark would have access to the pinnacles of clean energy and the gaming businesses. It was a win-win situation. Seto had chosen, after some deliberation, to retire from his position as an executive and become the Chairman of the Board for New Millennium Industries, as they were calling it. It had been a difficult choice, and the fact that Stark encouraged him to do it (with such obvious ulterior motives) had caused quite a bit of tension during the merger.

Days and weeks had passed without a settlement until Seto swallowed his pride in favor of logic. He knew that being on the board still gave him plenty of control, especially in combination with being co-owner of the company itself. Much as he was (perhaps irrationally) humiliated at the prospect of losing the CEO's chair he'd fought tooth and nail to have, the opportunity to dedicate more time to his creative pursuits was too much to pass up.

With the details finally ironed out (in spite of some sore points on both sides), the only thing left to do was reveal their intentions to the public at large. It was a publicity stunt in itself, really, since both of them were celebrities in their own right, and this would drive fans of both parties wild. One thing he did appreciate about Stark was that he shared his love of making an impression. What was the point of a press release if they weren't going to get any fanfare?

Stark had invited their appointed board members, along with reporters from most major news outlets and personal guests of his own. Seto had, of course, extended the guest list to the top-ranking duelists from around the world. It only made sense from a presentation perspective, even if not a wholly pragmatic one.

"Seto?"

He looked up to see Mokuba peeking into the study. He'd managed to crack the door open so quietly that Seto hadn't noticed.

"What is it?" He asked in response, his tone direct as always, but a touch more gentle than it was when he spoke with anyone else.

"Big brother, can Yugi and Joey stay for a while longer and watch a movie with me?" Mokuba asked, eyes pleading. Seto released a quiet sigh of exasperation, his lips drawing into a firm line as he resisted being unduly rude towards his brother. The last thing he wanted was for those morons to stay in his home any longer than absolutely necessary. He'd already have to see them again that evening at the airport.

"Taylor and Gardner are leaving?" He asked, meeting Mokuba's eyes again. The question was more hopeful than anything.

"Yeah, they have to go home and finish packing."

"I won't insult your intelligence by asking if you've done all _your_ packing," stated Seto, though they both knew that, intelligence aside, Mokuba was still young. He was liberated enough from the gravity of the trip that he might easily leave something important for the last minute. Thankfully, Mokuba nodded vigorously.

"Of course! Everything's packed and ready to be shipped."

"Fine, they can stay," Seto conceded reluctantly, "But keep them away from me. I have little enough graciousness to extend to them without enduring their constant pestering."

"Good to know that your work isn't making you crabbier than usual," Mokuba snickered, earning a disapproving frown in return, "Don't worry, no one will bother you."

Once Mokuba shut himself out of the room, Seto leaned back in his chair and sighed, then forced himself to his feet and closed his laptop. Honestly, he didn't know what was more trying on his nerves—the merger, or the infinite planning required to move all his worldly possessions across the Pacific.

Stark Tower was going to be their main base of operations now—a condition instituted by Seto. He had the KaibaLand park in Santa Monica, after all, and the KC US offices near that. Working with Stark was all the added reason he needed to leave Japan entirely. Kaiba Corporation would still do most of its business at the Japanese headquarters, but Seto knew well enough that he could run the place from overseas.

So now, he and Mokuba were moving to New York. It was almost surreal to think about, with the departure time only hours away. They'd be staying in a penthouse until they found housing—Seto hadn't had time to fly over to house hunt ahead of time. Luckily, they already had some choices lined up on the Upper East Side, but he wanted more time to observe and contemplate before making a decision.

Although Stark had offered him the opportunity to room in Stark Tower, Seto considered clawing his eyes out to be a better alternative than living in a building where Tony Stark spent most of his time. The downside to the whole moving situation was that Yugi and his goddamn entourage had to fly with him and Mokuba. Stark had made sure to invite the "King of Games" to the big reveal, much to Seto's dismay, and Mokuba had offered flying as a group without thinking about what his older brother's reaction might be.

He returned to his bedroom with his laptop packed safely into a briefcase, resigning himself to working via smartphone for the next few hours. He put away the last few things he intended to bring into small boxes and taped off the tops. All the heavy antique furniture was staying, of course, to be auctioned off for charity. Seto fully intended to leave Kaiba Mansion behind completely. He could choose his own furniture in New York rather than being stuck with Gozaburo's hand-me-downs.

Straightening up, he glanced around his bedroom. It was almost completely empty without his personal effects about, and the sound of his feet on the carpet echoed across the bare plaster walls. He had never seen the room so empty before—even on the day of his arrival, there had been tacky pseudo-Victorian clutter. The lack of anything but ornate oak furniture, plush carpet, and off-white walls made the room seem like a historical museum. Though in that context, he must be the exhibit.

It suddenly struck him that this would be the last time he would ever be in the room. It hadn't occurred to him in the midst of making travel plans. This room had been the closest thing he had to sanctuary since he was ten years old. As horrible as it was, this had been his home for most of his life. His nightmares had plagued him many a night in that four-poster bed, and his countless secrets may as well have been written in the walls. He recalled every sleepless night he'd spent half-dilerious from impotent sleeping medication, tormented by the lingering memories of Gozaburo's face and voice.

And now he was leaving. The fate of his God-awful quarters was to be torn down to build some upscale housing complex. He hardly regretted it—selling the property to a real estate company had been an act of sweet revenge against Gozaburo's memory. It hardly made up for his suffering, but he could soothe himself with the knowledge that the place where his worst years were spent would be ripped down to the foundations.

Seto glanced at his watch. The soonest they could reasonably leave for the airport was two hours from now. He had finished packing earlier than he had expected, which gave him a brief sense of satisfaction, but now he was left with virtually nothing to do until they departed. He could fetch his laptop, if he really wanted to, but that was just it. He didn't want to sit anxiously in the enormous, empty bedroom and attempt to work while he waited. He briefly played with the idea of going to join Mokuba, but then remembered that there were _other people _there.

He ended up retrieving his laptop after all, though he planned to use it for entertainment rather than work. He locked his bedroom door and tested the knob to ensure it was secure, and then sat on the stripped mattress with his back to the headboard. Thankfully, he used 4G internet. Otherwise, he would probably be stuck without internet, since wi-fi depended on a router and modem.

After loading his video hosting site of choice, Seto found the playlist he'd made containing a conglomerate of old film reels he'd found online. It was a risk keeping it around, really, considering how nosy Mokuba could be, but the grainy black-and-white shorts were important enough to him that he was willing to face the chance of mortification.

Captain America, the "Star Spangled Man", as they called him in the old commercials. Most of the reels were war bond propoganda that the Super Soldier had been part of in the early 1940's. Seto didn't spend very much time watching the videos, thankfully, but once in a while he felt the urge. More so than normal ever since a man sporting Captain America's title had appeared during the crisis in New York.

Seto almost hated himself for it, but Steve Rogers was one of his rare and unspoken crushes. He could only be grateful that the captain wasn't alive—knowing that he was as good as fictional made it easier for Seto to push thoughts of him out of his mind. Still, watching the cheesy commercials made him blush here and there. He felt the hair on his neck standing up when he noticed the captain's muscles flexing under the vibrant outfit, or when Rogers' deep blue eyes met the camera head-on.

He could hardly be blamed, could he? Steve Rogers was admirable at the very least, and Seto had known straight men to be impressed by his visage. It wasn't in the same way, of course…

He had done considerable research on the process of the now-lost serum that had made Captain America a super soldier to begin with. He wanted to think it was simply out of scientific interest, but he was an engineer—a physicist at times—not a biologist. No, he'd dug up all the public (and classified) information about Steve Rogers that he could out of fanatic obsession. It was a sensation he had trouble coming to terms with. He was used to being the admired icon, not the admirer.

Seto sat quietly, watching the movie and observing every detail despite knowing he had committed it all to memory by now. He had watched it so many times that he almost never winced at the sappy lines and songs.

"_Let us follow the stars and colors of the red, white, and blue!"_

He rolled his eyes. He knew enough English to understand that it didn't sound any better to native speakers than it did to him. Honestly, who ever wrote that should have been fired, even by the standards of that time. Judging by the look in his eyes, the poor Captain hated saying it as much as Seto hated hearing it. At least the "Star-Spangled Man with a Plan" had a ring to it, even if it was horribly American in its sugar-coated brainwashing.

Seto learned his head back as the video ended, his mind drifting to the news report that he had seen months ago. It had almost seemed like an elaborate prank, or a desperate lie used to cover up illicit government activities, but it was what it was. New York had been invaded by some kind of extra-terrestrial (or even outer dimensional) army. No one could have anticipated something like that. Plausible as it was that life existed on other planets, humanity didn't have the technology to master multiverse or space travel to the degree that their hostile visitors had. Comparatively, mankind was so outclassed that it was almost laughable.

Yet somehow, a group of no more than six people—extraordinary as they may have been—managed to fight off the impending invasion. Seto had heard many rumors and few facts about the team themselves. It was a fact that they were codenamed the "Avengers", which in itself told him they must be based in America. It was also a fact that Tony Stark, or Iron Man, was one of the members. Perhaps it was only Seto's respect for Stark's valiance that stopped him from spurning him completely.

Some claimed that one of the Avengers was a Norse God named Thor, but Seto didn't waste his time speculating about gods. He would believe the man was a very talented member of the X-Men before he bought into the idea of a god. That said, it was odd that "Thor" had managed to appear and disappear without a trace, leaving behind no records (even in the belly of government archives) except for a brief dossier gathered during his visit.

Bruce Banner was a far more credible case. The unfortunate victim of research gone wrong, he'd spent most of his life after the fact in hiding to avoid harming anyone around him. Someone in the government—or higher—was working very hard to keep him a secret for one reason or another, but Seto was resourceful, and no one was going to forget about the "Hulk" that had single-handedly taken down alien ships that dwarfed cruise liners. Seto had ventured to ask Stark if he knew anything about the good Doctor Banner, but he got nothing but snark in response, so he'd dropped the subject.

The least dramatic of the group were the assassin codenamed "Black Widow", and her partner "Hawkeye". Seto had dug hard to find anything on them, and even what he did dig up was obviously the tip of the iceberg. The two of them had one hell of a history, apparently, and most of it involved murder and espionage. The only thing that troubled him was that he couldn't find out what their alignment was, but considering what had happened in New York, it might not be a problem. Not yet.

Lastly—and most primary in Seto's interest—was the man who had dressed like (and claimed to be) Captain America. But that was impossible. News outlets and witnesses referred to the Avengers' leader as Captain America, but Steve Rogers had died when he crashed a plane in the Artic circle in the 1940's. Even if he had survived the crash, he'd be in his eighties, not a young looking man. That serum couldn't have given him eternal youth. Even if his body kept generating new cells, they wouldn't keep him from aging permenantly.

In short, there was almost no possibility that it was the real, original Captain America. Almost. Seto wanted to hope vaguely that it was actually him, but he quenched the feeling every time it arose. He at least attempted to be reasonable most of the time, and it was _not _reasonable to waste time and energy wishing for the impossible.

Seto stood up, checking his watch, and realized it was almost time to leave. He packed his laptop back into his briefcase with care, and glanced out the enormous window on the opposite side of the room. It was twilight now, and the fading sun was bathing everything in a particularly surreal kind of glow. He walked across the floor and stood in front of the glass, observing the sprawling property of Kaiba Mansion for the last time.

His eyes traveled over the green lawn—now blazing yellow in the sunset—and up the trunks of the old but well-kept trees that got progressively more clustered the further he looked from the house. The green tips of the branches were cast in sharp contrast between light and shadow due to the angle of the sun, and stretched into the fast-darkening sky. The higher he looked, the more orange and red faded into deep blue and almost black—dark enough that he could see a star clearly.

A fanciful (and immediately chided) part of him recalled early parts of his childhood, when he and Mokuba would jump at the chance to wish on stars or ask for luck at shrines. He was under no illusions, however. Wishes and luck were little more than fantasies constructed by people without the fortitude to depend on themselves. Seto had no need for such asinine ideas.

It probably wasn't even a star anymore. In all likelihood, it had already exploded; the light would take eons to fade from the view of earth. Other stars were visible now, thanks to the absence of the sun, but the first one was still the brightest. Seto found his attention stuck on it, despite his rationalizing, until Mokuba's voice startled him.

"Seto, are you in there?" He called from the other side of the bedroom door. Seto snapped the curtains shut and forced himself away from the window before walking toward the bed for his briefcase.

When he wordlessly opened the bedroom door, Mokuba gave him a small smile in greeting before walking toward the foyer. Seto followed him closely, his thoughts still drifting absently.

Damn it all. He honestly did _wish—_futilely—that the man who had fought in New York was actually Captain America. The original, not a replica developed by a government or Military or whoever was pulling the strings with the Avengers Initiative.

His face flushed slightly, and his chest tingled out of embarrassment. He was legitimately disappointed in himself, but he supposed that even he had to give in to fancy once in a while. Even if it was only for a second. It was probably for the best—with that out of the way, he managed to focus on the trip again. God knew Mokuba wouldn't be managing the details while he was distracted by the ceaseless chatter of Yugi and his fan club.

It was going to be a very long flight.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Steve was quickly jolted from his sleep by the piercing noise of his phone ringing. He blinked for a moment, confused by the sound and his surroundings. Glancing around, he calmed once he woke up enough to realize that he was in his apartment and recognize his ringtone.

The phone continued to ring, and he grabbed it a bit clumsily as he blinked away sleep. The clock on the phone said it was 7:30am, which surprised him. Normally he couldn't sleep in past six; five thirty was his normal rising time, a risidual effect of Army life. This was probably the first time since he had woken from the ice that he'd "slept in". He was turning into a civillian…

He had yet to figure out how to program names and numbers into the cellphone, but he recognized the number displayed as Tony Stark's. Steve groaned, unenthusiastic about dealing with Stark first thing in the morning, but he pressed the answer key.

"Tony, for the last time, _no_. I'm not going to that dinner tomorrow night," Steve muttered, already knowing what Stark wanted, "I told you I don't like parties."

"Oh, come on," Tony scoffed. Steve rolled his eyes. No matter what anyone said to Tony Stark, it went in one ear and out the other unless it was what he wanted to hear. The only exception was his significant other, Pepper, but everyone else was greeted with a sharp tongue and deaf ears.

"Rogers, we're talking about the biggest event of the year, here. Stark Industries is merging with the only other company impressive enough for it, and you want to spend the occasion moping at your apartment."

"I'm not moping," Steve protested before he could stop himself, "Why do you want me there so badly, anyway? I assumed you wouldn't want anyone there to threaten your spotlight."

"Don't flatter yourself, old man," Tony sounded half offended and half amused. Steve shook his head. "This merger is important, and you should be keeping up with the times anyway. Why not do it as my esteemed guest?"

Steve only replied with a sigh. Stark enjoyed reminding him that he was a fish out of water far more than he should have. Maybe he should learn to cope with the fact that he was in a different time now, but it wasn't exactly going to happen overnight. Too much had changed in seventy years for him to play the part of a modern man so soon.

"Besides, you owe me for the living quarters I set up for you in Stark Tower."

"What?" Steve's brow creased as he frowned. "Stark, your exact words when you set that up were 'no strings attached'"

"And you believed me, you chump. Just show up at seven. The unveiling is at eight, you stick around for another thirty minutes and then you can leave. If you wear your dress uniform, I'll let you ride in the limo."

Steve grit his teeth, knowing that calling Stark out on his rudeness was a losing battle. He sat heavily on his couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose in thought for a few seconds.

"Fine," he agreed grudgingly at last, "But I'm only staying until after your announcements, and I'm not going to let anyone important notice me if I can help it, so don't use me for any publicity stunts."

If there was nothing else Steve had learned from working with politicians, it was that heroes were good for business. Stark had his own fame in that right (and several others), but everyone knew there were more Avengers than Iron Man, and that Captain America was one of them.

"Are you trying to seem like you're playing hard ball?" Stark asked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and mocking. "Eh, doesn't matter. I'll see you there."

Steve waited for a few seconds, expecting to hear a click or dial tone, but the cellphone produced no such indicators. The screen showed that the call was done, however, so he sighed and set it on the cushion beside him. The last thing he wanted was to attend a useless party among the upper class, especially right after the destruction in Manhattan. But Stark would hold it over his head if he didn't go, playing his good nature to his advantage as he had done over the phone.

To be fair, Stark was being very generous. Steve hadn't seen his new quarters yet, but he assumed that it was going to be impressive. Stark had also been kind enough to get him a private gym membership, a new bike and even a new car. Still, to some degree he wanted to keep his old apartment, the one that SHIELD had given him. It was in a quiet neighborhood, not too far uptown, but certainly not downtown. The buildings were older and more comfortable for him than modern-looking condos, and it was the perfect place to escape to if he needed to get away from all the chaos of the current New York for a while.

Steve left the couch and headed towards the bathroom to get ready for his morning jog. He was a little late, but he could cut his run down to an hour to get back on schedule. He pulled on his sweatpants, undershirt and a hoodie, then slipped into his running shoes and left the house, not wanting to lose a spare moment.

He locked his front door and headed downstairs and outside onto the street. It was already bustling with people that were in their own little worlds, not paying much attention to what was going on around them. Steve sighed and headed for the park across the street, where he ran every morning. The running path snaked though the park in a two-mile trail, which was a perfect running distance for his morning exercise. Normally he made circuits around it to ensure he got at least an hour of cardio.

It was a simple routine he had. He'd wake up, jog, and then come home for his shower, followed by eating breakfast. After that, he'd head to one of three places: the library, Stark Tower, or the gym. He would usually stay there until noon, and then head to a small restaurant, usually followed by going to work out in the gym, then he would head home. For dinner he normally cooked at home, preferring to save what money he was provided. It seemed like the prudent thing to do; being in the Army had taught him to conserve what he had. Sometimes after dinner he would go on a walk, or visit a local coffee shop mainly for the quiet—but not lonely—atmosphere. Sometimes he simply sat and observed or ordered a cup; sometimes he doodled in the new sketchbook he'd bought. It was a simple routine, and perhaps even monotonous, but it worked for him.

Granted, it didn't give him much of a social life, but he didn't feel like he _wanted_ a social life at the moment. He was too busy trying to catch up to the modern era and understand this world. It was getting easier, and he was adjusting, but it still just overwhelmed him sometimes. How could there be five wars at once, but no recruitment ads or posters around the street? There wasn't even a need to conserve resources to put towards the war effort or recycle rubber. Considering SHIELD's capability, though, and the size of the stores in New York, he assumed resources hadn't been deficient in America for quite a while. He had yet to catch up to that point in history at the library.

The wind whipped around him as he ran. It felt good to stretch his muscles, feel the burn in his legs, his heart beating quicker in his chest. It reminded him that he was alive. Still breathing. He blew past a woman who was power walking—another early riser like himself, apparently—around the bend and over the bridge. He gradually got the feeling that he had a shadow, a gut feeling he'd learned to rely on during the war. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and was slightly relieved to see Natasha keeping pace behind him.

Curious about what had warranted Natasha's presence, Steve slowed his pace, allowing her to catch up.

"No need Captain, I'm barely breaking a sweat." Natasha informed him in her sociable, but still flat tone. She jogged beside him easily, though that was hardly a surprise.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, partly sarcastic. He knew SHIELD was probably keeping tabs on him half the time, but this was the first time Natasha (or any other agent) had ever appeared.

"I just felt like a run, and this is one of the best paths," she stated, though Steve knew better than to take her words at face value by now. "Also, your number one fan wants to speak with you. Between you and me, it's nothing important, but he still wants you to sign those stupid cards of his. Fortunately for Fury, he wasn't too upset that his blood got all over them."

Steve chuckled. He still had yet to find the time to sign those trading cards, though that was partially due to the fact that he'd only learned Coulson was alive recently.

The knowledge still gave him a wave of relief, though it fed his resentment towards Nick Fury. Fury had lied to them, telling them that Coulson was dead to give them a "push". In actuality, Coulson had been in critical condition, but still clinging to life. To be fair, Coulson's staged death had pulled the Avengers together and possibly even been the very reason they'd managed to fend off the alien invasion. Despite their shared anger, Fury's decision on the matter was dubious at worst and correct at best.

Apparently, when Coulson woke up in a medical center, he hadn't known he'd allegedly died. He hadn't expressed any opinion on the matter. Steve couldn't imagine what he must have been thinking. But judging by the look on his face, Fury would definitely have something to worry.

"I'll stop by at 10:30." Steve told Natasha, his voice almost authoritative. She seemed amused.

"Yes, sir," she replied, cocking an eyebrow.

"Are you going to that dinner party tomorrow night?"

"Yes, but mostly for security. Did Stark finally convince you to join?"

"Yeah. I'm only staying until after Stark's speech. I'm not a big fan of parties." Steve muttered as they reached the half-way point in the circuit.

"Well, looks like we'll finally get to meet Stark's new business partner. He's kept it carefully hidden, but it didn't take me much effort to find out who it is." She smirked.

"Who is it?" Steve asked immediately, his curiosity flaring unexpectedly. It was due mostly to his desire to know something Stark didn't want him to, but information was never a bad thing.

"He's the head of the most influential company in Japan, and is also the youngest CEO of a multinational organization in the world. Aside from that, he's a successful professional gamer. Second best international," Natasha explained.

"Professional gamer?"

"There are a lot of games that are strategically complex and widely-played enough to warrant holding tournaments for prize money."

Steve blinked. Natasha's summary of the term didn't make him any less confused, honestly. More technology. The world had become obsessed with it, it seemed. He couldn't keep up.

"You said he was young. How young?"

"He's nineteen, but he's been running the company since he was fourteen."

A fourteen-year-old entering the world of politics and big business. At fourteen, Steve had been spending his spare time listening to the radio, running around with Bucky, or taking jobs where he could. Even they were only simple jobs, like making sodas at the drug store, not running an entire company.

And now at nineteen, this kid—still just a teenager—was going to be working with Stark. When Steve was nineteen, he was an illustration student who failed to enlist three times. That was before the serum, of course.

Still, Stark's partner was only four years younger than him. Well, physically anyway. Technically, Steve was somewhere around ninety years old in actuality, but since the ice had cryogenically preserved him, he was still twenty-three.

"I just hope he doesn't kill Stark." Natasha muttered.

"What?" Steve blinked, pulled from his thoughts by her words.

"This guy is notorious for being a bulldozer. He's never been known to lose the upper hand in business, and he's ruthless—to the degree that I've found a few shady points in his history. His fans and business associates call him "Ice Prince" because of his personality. He also has a very low tolerance for foolish or childish actions, and since Stark doesn't know how to behave any other way…"

"He hates Stark? Then why work with him?" Steve was confused, but he knew the answer before she even said it.

"He's Japanese, and Stark is good business."

Steve shook his head. Good business could only go so far. Some things weren't worth it. Having to deal with Stark was one of those things.

"Are you bringing a date?" Natasha asked.

Steve was startled, and stared at her impassive face for a few seconds, trying to figure out if she was dropping a hint.

"Um… no? Why?"

"Just wondering. I'm accompanying my target to the party, so if you see me, call me "April Star". Got it?" Natasha stated, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Yes Ma'am," Steve replied, mimicking her earlier affirmation. Who was she targeting and why?

"I thought you were going with Barton."

Natasha shook her head.

"No, this is too important. Besides, Clint is currently glued to Coulson's side for security purposes."

Steve sighed. He hadn't seen or heard anything about Hawkeye since Coulson had been revived. Maybe they had been closer colleagues than he'd known, or maybe Hawkeye was just determined not to allow a repeat performance of Coulson's death scene. Either way, Steve supposed it didn't matter as long as there was no immediate need for the Avengers initiative to be active.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow night," Natasha told him before taking off down a side path. He didn't have a chance to respond in kind.

He did feel curious about Stark's business partner—who was still unnamed, he realized, probably because Natasha had too much love for secrets. Steve didn't know much about the Japanese, but the last time he'd encountered one, it had been one of his close comrades during the war. All he could envision mentally was a short, lean Japanese teenager, but somehow that mental image didn't seem to have as much imposing presence as it should.

He also wondered about the "shady points" Natasha had referred to. Shady how? And when? He wasn't exactly up-to-date, but last time he checked, crooked businessmen weren't a good thing. He'd have to trust Stark's judgment he supposed—as difficult as that was to do—since he didn't have any control over the situation. He only hoped that no problems would arise.

Steve found that he didn't feel much like running anymore, so he decided to end his jog early. He started to walk towards the entrance to the park, but paused when he saw something shining on the sidewalk.

A penny.

He picked it up on impulse, turning it and watching the bright copper catch the light. It was a brand new 2012 penny. He smiled as an old phrase ran through his mind.

_Find a penny, pick it up; all the day, you'll have good luck._

He flipped it in the air, catching it playfully. Pocketing it, he continued to walk out of the park and back towards his apartment. Who knew? Maybe he'd have some good luck today.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_Please fasten your seatbelts. We are beginning our descent."_

Seto released a sigh of relief, quickly buckling his seatbelt. This had been the most excruciating twelve hours of his life, and it didn't help that he was exhausted from the start. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. Of course, that had been because he was determined to stay awake and adapt to the time change. Though it hadn't been hard to stay awake with the geek squad yammering on without a moment of silence.

"I can't believe we're in New York!" Gardner chirped, her voice too shrill for his sleep-deprived senses to tolerate. He winced slightly.

"I still don't understand why Mr. Stark invited us to this dinner." Yugi murmured, looking a little concerned. Seto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The geek squad wasn't allowed to know about the merger. He had had to pay Mokuba to keep his mouth shut, so he'd remember if nothing else. The look of shock on their faces was going to be worth it.

"Who cares? We got a free trip to New York City for two weeks!" Taylor grinned ecstatically. "We can worry about reasoning later. I don't think there's anything shady going on—Tony Stark is a hero, after all."

'_Which only makes him worse.'_ Seto noted dryly to himself.

"Hey, do you think he'd let me try on the suit?" Joey asked, bouncing in his seat. Before anyone else responded, a dry snort and stifled laugh from Seto could be heard from where he sat alone in the back corner of the compartment. Joey turned a sharp glare at him.

"The hell is so funny to you?"

"I'm sure that Stark intends to keep what's left of New York intact," Seto stated, staring back with a level gaze. Seriously, the idiot who could barely handle a stick-shift wanted to operate the complex, fully armed, technological masterpiece of the Iron Man suit? He'd have a better chance at having a successful future.

"Shut up, bastard! I wouldn't wreck the whole city!" Joey snapped at him, frustrated.

"No, just as much as you could before the National Guard shot you down."

"Oh, piss off."

"This is your pilot speaking. We have now landed. Thank you for flying Stark 1, and we hope you enjoy your stay in New York City."

Seto sighed in relief. Finally, he was getting off this accursed jet. It was almost insulting that Stark had taken the time to insist that Seto fly on one of his private crafts. Why he'd pushed the issue was still beyond Seto.

Once everyone had shuffled out of the plane, they found a limo waiting for them on the air strip, true to Stark's word. The geek squad seemed awestruck by the town car, but the Kaiba brothers were fairly indifferent. They never traveled by taxi, so limousines were a usual affair for them. Seto got into the car first as the driver put the bags in the trunk.

"_Konnichiwa,_" came a casual greeting in an intentionally bad accent. A sense of dread hit Seto at full force before his eyes even settled on the source of the voice.

No_._

Tony Stark was sitting across from him, holding a sparkling glass of champagne. He looked the same as he always did. Sunglasses, shirt undone just enough to show his chest—a luxury he now enjoyed with the removal of the arc reactor—and his expensive boot-cut jeans.

Seto had a mere second to process before there was an explosion of excited squeals and horrible English. The geek squad exploded with greetings and introductions, most of them failing to express themselves appropriately (_veri veri fan!), _with the exception of Gardner, who was taking English at university. Seto just sank further into his corner, silently cursing not the laundry list of things that Stark had used to trick him out of his own private limo, but the fact that he didn't have a coffee machine. He needed to stay awake, at least for a few more hours.

Stark answered all their questions in his barely-intelligible Japanese accent. Joey was immediately shot down when he asked if he could try on the suit. Taylor looked like he might hyperventilate, Yugi had trouble speaking at all, and Gardner was having even more trouble with volume control, to Seto's disdain. At least Mokuba seemed to have his head about him.

Finally, after almost an hour in traffic, they reached the hotel. It was on the upper East side, but low-key enough to keep them out of the public view. Hopefully, staying there would keep the paparazzi off his back, at least until the party. He was even registered under a fake name in case anyone had a reason to come looking for him.

"It's been a real treat to meet all of you," Stark stated, but Seto couldn't be sure if he meant it or not—his expression was the same as usual. "I'll see you all tomorrow night. A limo will be by to collect you around 6:30. Oh, and here—" He handed out what looked like pre-paid cash cards. Seto internally chided Stark's decision to do so.

"Buy yourselves something nice to wear and get dinner or something. You're in New York, after all."

Seto took the opportunity to slip out of the car so he could miss out on the fevent thanks and praise that Tony Stark was enjoying. He didn't need to see him bask in attention before the party.

"Hello," a young red headed woman greeted him at the reception desk, "Checking in?"

"Yes. I have reservations under the name "Ken Tsuda"," he told her, making sure to enunciate carefully. He had been speaking English long enough not to have trouble with it, but sleep deprivation worked wonders on his cognitive abilities.

"Ah, here it is," she declared after a brief search, "You're on the twelfth floor, deluxe rooms 1012 and 1013, and single room 1005. Will you need help with your bags?"

Seto nodded, taking the key cards that she offered him.

"Yes. My…_companions_ are outside. There are six of us."

"Of course, sir. I hope you have a wonderful stay."

Her teeth were so white it was almost blinding, at least to his painfully alert senses. Seto nodded again, then waved to get a bell boy's attention before directing him to the bags. He didn't bother waiting around, opting instead for taking the elevator to the tenth floor where the rooms were located. He just wanted to have some time to himself.

The room was…satisfactory, at least. Four star, to be sure, but he normally stayed in his own hotel, or the more upscale five-stars like the Plaza. Still, this place had all the amenities he needed for a brief visit—two queen-sized beds, a kitchen area, a huge flatscreen and a couch. Very basic, but enough to simulate home.

He set his laptop case on the table and pulled the computer out. There was an email from Stark already (among hundreds of others from employees) that must have been sent from his phone, given the time. He wanted Seto to come to Stark Towers the next day for final preparations. Seto suddenly understood why Stark had instructed the others to go shopping. It was so he could get over there without any questions. He always had an ulterior motive…

Just then there was a knock on the door. He opened it to reveal the bell boy with his bags, and Mokuba behind him.

"Big brother? Can I spend the night with Joey, Yugi, and Tristan tonight?" Mokuba asked, looking as if he was trying to seem composed, but his eyes revealed excitement. The bell boy quietly placed Seto's bags on the floor beside the entryway. Seto sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, though part of it might have been his body's attempt to stay awake through deep breathing.

"Do what you want," he stated, "But know that we have things to do in the morning."

Mokuba hugged him appreciatively, then started digging through his suitcase for the things he'd need overnight.

Seto pinched the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples in an attempt to fight off his recurring headache. The throbbing was driving him crazy, and he'd already taken so many ibuprofen that he might overdose if he took more.

"Do you need anything else, sir?"

Seto glanced at the bell boy, the source of the question. He reached into his pocket and placed cash into the young man's hand. He didn't know what kind of bills they were or how many, and for the time being, he didn't much care.

"Tell me how to get to the nearest café."

***************************************8

Steve carefully observed the New York skyline, noting how much it had changed since his day. He still remembered old sketches he'd made of the city back when he was building a portfolio for college. He penciled the empire state building a little darker in areas of shade, trying to portray the nighttime lighting properly. Glancing at the clock in the coffee shop, he saw that he had already been there for an hour. He sighed, then turned back to his art.

He was feeling a little disappointed. Nothing much had happened that day, and in a way he'd had his hopes up after picking the penny off of the street. Not that it had brought him bad luck, of course. He _had_ seen Coulson briefly earlier, which had been nice. Natasha hadn't been joking, Clint was shadowing him for the time being and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping.

Glancing up, he scanned the shop. He was the only person left for now, remarkable as that was in New York City, but he still had two hours before the shop closed for the night. Taking a sip of his drink, he glanced outside to see a young couple walking together.

Steve sighed, then turned back to his art. Stark had been teasing him lately about never having any kind of relationship, and constantly tried to find out if he was still a virgin, which was disrespectful and none of his business. It wasn't that he didn't want to date, but he'd never been the type to date recreationally. He preferred to wait for someone he really cared for.

He was fine for the time being, anyway, right? Not really, but he was getting along. He was lonely, but quite frankly it made sense considering how unfamiliar everything was. Who would he have anything in common with? If he dated someone, it would be because she was bold yet kind, beautiful yet highly intelligent, and someone who was interested in _him_, not Captain America.

But a woman like that didn't seem to exist in this time. Women now followed a completely new set of goals, etiquette, and behaviors, many of which would have been nothing short of scandal in his day. Then again, most things in this time would be a scandal in his day. He wasn't in a place to say any of it was wrong—obviously the world was still turning despite women going to work and joining the military and being...confident in their sexualities, as he'd read. But it had been quite a leap from pencil skirts not-too-high above the knee to things like booty shorts and skinny jeans.

The bell above the door rang, drawing him from his thoughts and signaling that someone had entered the small shop. Steve didn't bother to look up.

"I'll take an espresso, double," came a man's voice. It was fairly deep, very smooth and almost drawling. Steve detected an accent, and while he sounded Asian, his pronunciation almost resembled that of the British. Maybe he'd had language training of some kind. Steve glanced towards the counter out of curiosity and saw a young man—he couldn't have been older than twenty—with chestnut-colored hair that appeared well-trimmed despite its length.

He seemed a bit tall to be Asian, though. He had to be about six foot one, not much shorter than Steve was himself. Actually, he looked like he was from Britain, if that thick mop of hair was anything to go on. He appeared to be a businessman or at least upper-class, judging by his smart, long double-breasted coat and well-tailored black pants.

The man seemed as if he detected he was being watched, and he turned his head enough to gaze at Steve through the corners of his eyes. They were a striking Carribbean blue, so vibrant that they could have been real life technicolor. They maintained eye contact for a few long seconds, neither of them willing to play the coy one and avert their gaze. The man at the counter finally looked away when the barrista set his expresso on the bar.

"That will be five fifty."

Silently, the man at the counter reached into his pocket for a wallet, then seemed slightly panicked and started patting other pockets, even searching the ones inside his coat. He must have forgotten his money, and he seemed very frustrated about it. The barrista looked uncomfortable.

Without really thinking about it, Steve got out of his seat, wallet in hand, and approached the counter to assist. He pulled six dollar bills from his pocket and presented them to the barrista, who was watching him with rapt attention. So was the man at the counter, though his eyes were a little more stony than relieved.

"I can cover it," he offered, "You can keep the change."

"That's very nice of you," the barrista smiled, looking as if her day had been made. The man he'd paid for, on the other hand, was staring at him with a face that was impassive, but borderline offended.

"That wasn't necessary," he stated, though he still took his espresso from the counter. Steve was a little stricken by the fact that he seemed to genuinely mean that. Then he smirked, realizing that the man was probably more annoyed at needing help than actually being helped.

"No, but I figure it's never a bad thing to help people."

"Oh?" The other man cocked an eyebrow and started walking toward a corner table. "That's very…American of you."

"American?" Steve followed, getting the impression that they were still in conversation. Evidently he was wrong—the other man looked surprised when he was still nearby and talking. "People lend a hand where you're from, don't they?"

"A Japanese knows to ask first," replied the businessman, his tone almost stuck-up. Almost. Perhaps it was just patriotism. "One cannot risk wounding the pride of their countrymen."

"I didn't mean to be rude."

"Hmm."

Silence fell over them. Steve was feeling distinctly scrutinized under the sharp gaze of the man who was sitting before him; his blue eyes were flickering from his face to different parts of his anatomy, but there wasn't so much as a creasing of his brow to indicate what he was thinking. Finally, Steve chose to speak.

"_Onamae oshiete itadake masu ka?"_

For a brief second, the other man seemed astonished, and Steve couldn't help but feel a little proud that he knew enough Japanese to make basic communication. Thankfully, the previously unflappable businessman responded to him.

"_Kaiba Seto desu," _he replied, "I didn't expect to hear Japanese from you. Particularly not with such polite phrasing."

"I didn't expect you to answer the question," Steve smiled, "So I guess it's fair."

"Heh," snorted Kaiba as he took a sip of his espresso. He didn't even flinch at what was surely a strong, bitter taste. It was as if he was accustomed to it. "Why don't you have a seat, Mister…?"

"You can just call me Steve."

"Steve?" Suddenly Kaiba's face was fully attentive, his expression bewildered. It reminded Steve of the cats his mom had kept, and the way they looked when he snuck up on them.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, sitting cautiously. Kaiba composed himself.

"Of course not. I suppose since this is America, you may call my by my given name."

"Seto?" Steve asked as confirmation. Kaiba seemed almost embarrassed and gazed into his coffee cup as he nodded. "That's fine with me."

"Tell me, Steve, do you speak Japanesefluently?"  
"I don't know about fluency," he replied thoughtfully, "I learned quite a bit from a friend of mine whose parents were Japanese. I also speak decent German, since I spent quite a lot of time there. I've studied other languages as well. I learned Latin while I was in school, but it seems it's not much use anymore."

"I see. Are you in the military? It sounds as if you traveled."

"Um," Steve paused, then looked toward the window in an attempt to avoid showing the way his face fell, "Not anymore, no."

"You're a bit young to be retired."

"I finished my tour."

It was quiet again. Steve saw Kaiba's—or, rather, Seto's—eyes drift toward his abandoned table, where, in his hurry, he'd left his sketchbook.

"That looks interesting. Are you an artist now?"

"Well, I used to major in illustration. Now it's only a hobby," Steve replied, standing to pick up his art supplies. Seto stood as well, topping off his coffee and heading for the door.

"I have to be on my way. Have a nice evening."

"Maybe we're going the same way," Steve suggested. Perhaps it was rude to try to impose his company further on the other man, but damn it all, it had been a long time since he'd had a casual conversation. And besides, this young man intrigued him.

"…Perhaps," replied Seto, waiting by the door for Steve to accompany him. He seemed unsure, but Steve couldn't tell why. As they left, Steve simply followed where he led. He could get himself home after walking the other man to his—you could never tell, but he was fairly confident that he could defend himself better than a foreign businessman.

"I suppose I should pay you back for the coffee, since we're going to my hotel."

"There's no need," Steve replied, "It's only six dollars, right?"

Or, he hoped that was an "only". Six dollars could get a whole lot more in his day. Hell, gas back then was—what—ten cents per gallon? He'd never had a car, so he couldn't be sure.

"I repay my debts."

"There's no debt, fella," Steve tried to reassure Seto, "I'm not hurting for money."

"Nor am I, though my forgotten wallet indicates the contrary. Aren't you a student?"

"In college? Not yet. I guess I didn't realize it was so easy to go until recently," Steve explained, trying not to say anything that sounded odd. It was true though—college and university weren't the norm when he was in school. "What about you? Are you in school?"

Seto unexpectedly started laughing slightly, as if he had heard something hilarious but was being extremely condescending about it.

"I create the materials that universities teach about," he explained, "I have no need to get a degree when I'm constantly changing technology."

"Sounds impressive," Steve said, his awe genuine, "What do you do, exactly?"

"I'm an engineer, mainly optics-based, but I do a lot of work with virtual reality and simulated scenarios."

Well, that was vague. Steve didn't press, assuming that someone that prodigal—more so than Stark, perhaps—wouldn't be so cryptic accidentally.

"What are your skills, Steve?" Asked Seto, seeming genuinely interested. "If art is your hobby and you are no longer in the military, I'm sure there must be something you enjoy."

Steve contemplated the question briefly and looked around. He was starting to wonder if the other man didn't know his way around the city yet. They had essentially taken a convoluted path that wound them around a few blocks and brought them back almost to where they'd started. Not that he was complaining about time to converse, but he didn't want to wander the city streets all night.

"I train a lot. I learned basic combat when I was in the Army, but I've also done boxing, and in the past year I've picked up Brazilian jiu jitsu and mixed martial arts."

"Impressive," Seto rolled his blue eyes up at him, his expression one Steve couldn't interpret. Was it admiration, or intimidation? Neither of those seemed quite right, and he felt a little bit uncomfortable like he did when Coulson verbally revered him.

"I study capoeira."

"Capoeira?" Steve parroted, "What is that, exactly?"

"It's a Brazilian martial art, but it's very different from their adapted jiu jitsu. Capoeira is a low-contact striking art designed to let one dance around one's enemies."

"Sounds intense."

"It is, but it suits my natural affinities."

They were quiet for a few minutes, and at the middle of the next block, Seto stopped walking and faced the hotel before them. Steve gazed up at the building. It wasn't particularly tall for a modern hotel—it seemed to be only ten floors high. Still, from what he could see of the lobby, it seemed upscale.

"The Jewel? You're staying here?"

"Yes, and if you'd like your money back, you'll have to come upstairs with me."

"If you insist," Steve followed Seto inside the building. Seto walked more slowly than he had before, and Steve accidentally ran into his side. He started to apologize, but Seto side-stepped away quickly as if he had been shocked, staring back at Steve.

"Um," Steve wondered at the odd behavior, "Sorry, I didn't mean to run into you. Are you hurt?"

"No," Seto replied, straightening out his coat. Steve could see a royal blue button-down revealed by the open V. "You only startled me."

Steve wasn't sure how to respond, so he followed Seto into the elevator silently. They rode up to the tenth floor, and once Seto stepped out, Steve accompanied him down the hallway to his suite. Seto stepped inside, and Steve waited on the threshold until he noticed he was being watched.

"…Did you want me to step in?" He asked, hoping he wasn't making the wrong assumption. Seto cleared his throat.

"Only for a moment. I expect it would be rude to make you wait outside, even if briefly."

Steve smiled and walked into the room. Shutting the door behind him, and he watched as Seto sought out his wallet. He pulled a bill out of it and handed it to Steve.

"This is a twenty," he noted, trying to hand it back, but Seto refused to accept it.

"I don't have anything smaller. Consider the extra a token of appreciation for the company."

"You're paying me for my _company?"_ For some reason, that thought struck him as funny. His lips twitched with the urge to laugh.

"Take it as you will. Now please, I'm very tired and have a busy morning ahead, so I'll see you out."

"I understand," Steve conceded quietly, pocketing the money and following Seto to the door. As he stepped out, he turned back, finding that he was extremely reluctant to wander back to his apartment alone.

"For what it's worth, it was nice meeting you," he offerred. Seto seemed surprised, but he accepted the compliment. "You know, my apartment is only a couple of blocks away. Maybe we'll run into each other again if you're here long-term."

There was no reply for a few seconds; Seto simply stared at him impassively, his face so vacant that Steve was sure he was masking whatever he felt. Steve wondered what would make someone want to hide behind such a mask. He noticed how dark the circles under his eyes were. It looked as if he hadn't had a good night's rest in a while.

"Perhaps we will…Steve."

With that, Seto quietly shut the door to his suite, and Steve left the hotel to walk back home. The evening had been bizarre, to be sure, and frankly the only guarantee he had that he hadn't annoyed the other man was…well, nothing, really. He had paid him for his "company", as some gesture of gratitude, and he didn't seem like the type to entertain people he disliked, but he'd still seemed odd. Then again, from what Steve knew about the Japanese, their culture encouraged acquiescence and self-control. Maybe the stranger was only being cautious.

Maybe it would just be a case of meeting someone and never seeing them again. It wasn't uncommon in such a large city.

Either way, Steve wouldn't mind seeing a familiar face at the coffee shop or around town. It would be less barren than the constant crowd of unknown people rushing past him. He was intrigued by Kaiba Seto in some ways, he had to admit, even if he couldn't put his finger on some of them. Some part of him genuinely hoped that their first encounter wouldn't be their last.

As Seto shut the door to his hotel suite, he felt overcome with a wave of shock that threatened to turn into hyperventilation. He wandered to his couch and sat heavily on it, gazing vacantly at the ceiling as he attempted to process what had just happened.

That man—whoever he was—had looked _exactly _like Captain America. He'd never seen the full face of Steve Rogers, of course, but his height, build, and jawline were like a replica of the Star-Spangled Man. His name was even Steve. How could such a coincidence occur?

At first, Seto hadn't known how to respond while he was in the coffee shop, except possibly to try ignoring Steve to avoid acting odd. He had probably come off as being snobby in the process (which he was, but not in this particular instance), but at least he hadn't gotten starry-eyed or started blushing. He'd come close, though, being in such close quarters as Steve spoke to him.

In a way, he'd tried to escape while leaving the coffee shop, feeling helpless to his emotions and not wanting to subject a random—if very kind—stranger to his stupidity. But for whatever reason, Steve had wanted to take him to his hotel, and Seto almost hated himself for not going straight there. It had only been a block away, but it was all he could do to lead them in circles and hope Steve didn't notice just so he could have a few more minutes with him.

And then Steve had bumped into him outside the hotel almost making him catatonic from shock. First due to being unused to physical contact with anyone other than Mokuba, and second… Steve was strong. Even though they had only touched for a second, he had felt firm, powerful muscles that the man's clothes did little to hide. It was all he could do to keep his face from turning a blaze of color.

Perhaps the most notable miracle was that Steve hoped to see him again. Surely, he hadn't been very good company that evening. Seto wondered what ulterior motives lay beneath the stranger's intentions for a second, but those thoughts weren't allowed to blossom in the midst of his sheer bewilderment.

It wasn't until he relaxed at last that he came to the conclusion that he would seek the man out again. He couldn't be the same person as Steve Rogers, but someone who looked like him wasn't a bad thing, especially coupled with what seemed like a compassionate and intelligent personality. He could simply run into him at the coffee shop occasionally and get acquainted at his own leisure. Assuming he didn't start hyperventilating.

Maybe Steve was single. And a little bi-curious.

Seto grumbled at himself for having such thoughts. It was too much to hope for, and he'd be an idiot to start and acquaintance with those kinds of intentions. Still, he wouldn't complain…

He got off of the couch and shuffled to the bathroom to get cleaned up for bed. Tomorrow would be a big day, and much as he wanted to dedicate more (all) thought to the man he'd just met, he wouldn't be any use without sleep. He'd have to tangle with his thoughts and feelings _after _tolerating Tony Stark. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it either, but he would certainly allow himself the guilty pleasure of briefly fantasizing. Eventually.


End file.
